


Crowfeathers

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [27]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Gen, M/M, Mention of experimentation, davesprite is a cockatrice, im not awake enough to tag so if i miss any important ones tell me, lab subject
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:30:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Roxanne Lalonde comes across something that requires Dave's help to handle. Problem is, there's already a Dave here that she doesn't know about.





	1. Chapter 1

_Cockatrice: closely related to a basilisk, this creature is hatched from a cock-egg (not necessarily an egg laid by a rooster; see appendix B for more information) and incubated by a serpent or toad. Unlike basilisks, which rarely are much more than animals intellectually, a cockatrice must be inhabited by a demon, spirit, or other disembodied consciousness before the egg will hatch. In addition, the spirit must be chimeric in nature—the usual case is a partially or wholly recessive human fraction of the whole, taken from a ghost or recently deceased human._

_Cockatrices tend to vary somewhat in appearance, depending on the original nature of their soul, but keep aspects of a chicken, such as feathers, (possibly non-functional) wings, and scales on the main body and limbs (if present). It's unclear whether the scales are an aspect of the incubating creature or an aspect of the genetic forebears of their avian components, as they're present even in toad-incubated cockatrices. At hatching, the cockatrice will resemble a newly-hatched chicken (often slightly larger than a typical chick), but will quickly develop into a humanoid or reptilian creature with the aforementioned qualities. It's been reported that maturity can be reached within ten years, although "maturity" is something of a relative term, of course._

_Unlike that of a basilisk, the gaze of a cockatrice is not usually fatal, especially not in accidental exposure. However, these creatures appear to be able to focus their power, producing a weapon that can vary in effect from vertigo to death. Caution is advised when approaching a cockatrice, but as there are no confirmed cases of them being immediately aggressive, the best policy is to treat them as a non-threat, and attempt diplomatic relocations before violent ones._

—Roxanne Lalonde, _Compendium of Supernatural and Paranormal Creatures._

* * *

_Dave Strider, eighteen days after gestation._

You're kind of aware that you're dreaming, which is, like, not normal for you. Well, it wasn't normal before you died, anyway. You don't _think_ it's normal now, either; you've woken up a couple times from Karkat's dreams and your own just as disoriented as always. 

But yeah, right now you know you're dreaming. 

You're dreaming. 

You're dreaming of somewhere warm, of being curled up around yourself, impossibly small. The dreaming part of you, the part that _is_ still you, is mildly worried about that, but the being you're dreaming you are feels safe here. This is all he knows, after all; the world is small and safe and cramped, and that is how it should be. 

Except it's getting too cramped, isn't it? 

You (he? no, you, this is your dream) squirm and you stretch, twist and turn, and finally spread your wings ( _your what? eh, it's a dream_ ) out wide, wider than the bounds of your universe. Which shouldn't be possible. 

It scares you, when something cracks. Makes you curl up again. But the crack means something. Your universe is no longer quite so warm. 

It's _terrifying._

_Dave?_

You thrash, panicking, trying to push away the cool air that's like a physical thing, like nothing you've ever felt before. All that accomplishes is more small cracking sounds, the edges of your universe breaking down and dissolving away from you. 

Why? What's happening? 

_Dave? Fuck, Dave? Dave!_

Curling up again doesn't help, but when you go still something that's not you and not of your universe touches you. It starts gently pulling the shards of what you've broken away, pulling you onto a surface that's almost-not-quite as warm as you were before. 

Some of the shards stick to your soft babyskin. You find out that you can cry as the new person pulls them off; the sound is startling to you, creates a feedback loop that leaves you whimpering and cawing softly, inconsolable—

_DAVE COME THE FUCK BACK!_

...and there goes the dream. Damn. 

You open your eyes, blinking up at Karkat. "...hey, babe." 

He makes a sound that you haven't heard for almost a month—not since that night in the fucking vacant building, when you were coughing up blood and trying desperately to get his attention—and scoops you up off the bed and into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The noises the demon makes can't really be called words, but over and under and around those soft possessive growls you get a panicked stream of thoughts from his mind. 

_—don't do that to me, Dave, don't fucking go away from me, don't, please don't, I can't think when you do that, it's the worst thing, please—_

"Hey. 'kat, hey." He whines softly, when you pull away, but loosens his grip enough for you to shift, meets your eyes as you reach up to cup his face in both hands. Again, his pupils are large enough to eat up a big chunk of his red eyes, but this time it's from fear, not darkness. "It's okay, man. Just a dream." 

"Was fucking _not_. You went away from me, Dave, I couldn't get you to wake up—" 

"Babe, shh." He stops talking when you kiss the corner of his mouth, takes a shaky breath when you pull back. "Nothing happened. I was just having some kinda dream about hatching out of an egg or something, Rose would have a field day with it but it's like, normal. My brain trying to give me symbolism about rebirth and shit." 

Karkat nods, slightly. Then he shakes his head, not-so-slightly; almost hard enough to dislodge your hands. "Dave, your mind wasn't here, I could barely feel you—" 

"Shhhh." Another kiss, this one right on his lips. This time you don't pull away far enough to break contact, speaking through the empath bond rather than aloud. _You were dreaming too, Karkat. That's all. A nightmare, about losing me. It makes sense—_

"I almost lost you once," he mumbles against you. "Yeah." _It's fucking terrifying, Dave._

"I know." _I can feel it._

Karkat sighs, at that, instinctively holding you tighter. You relax against him, wait for him to settle down on the bed again, and open your mind. Let him in. _Pull_ him in, twine yourself around him.   
That calms him. Calms both of you. It always does.

You're still alive a month after you died, and if your beloved fears losing you again? That's understandable. Time will let him feel that you're safe again, eventually.

For now, you both sleep. 

But the dream of the egg is gone, and when you wake up again you won't remember dreaming it at all. After all...

It's not _your_ memory to keep.

* * *

_Roxanne Lalonde, eight years after rebirth._

You are called out to the research facility because of what is, apparently, some sort of accident. 

Well. _Accident_ is a poor word for it, really. Accidents shouldn't leave a body count this high. Not when the facility is completely intact. 

That's the reason you and your crew was called in, actually. The facility is completely intact, and so is the nested array of warding circles in the lower levels. The corpses are in the lower levels too, of course, which suggests that one of the beings the wards are containing was the cause of this. 

This is _precisely_ why hunters don't study the beings you hunt in captivity. Idiots. 

Or maybe not idiots. As you examine the records you can find, you realize that this place has been used not just for illicit storage and research, but also breeding. Some of the creatures listed haven't been seen in this plane of existence for hundreds of years; some are so rare that you'd thought them extinct. The scholar in you is delighted at this opportunity to speak to this many rare creatures. 

The human in you, the mother, is horrified at the records of how they've been treated. 

Bryan, one of the data specialists among your coworkers, has already found blueprints, began helping you to cross-reference the records you're working on with a floorplan of the lower levels and with the pattern of wards within wards. None of these creatures has left the level they're on since they came here; each floor is surrounded by a binding circle made from the very architecture of the building. You're willing to bet that many of them haven't ever left the even smaller binding circle of their rooms. 

If there were any researchers left alive, you'd beat the shit out of them yourself. 

Since the opportunity for punishment is not currently available, you do the next best thing. You tell Ravenna (yes, it's a ridiculously melodramatic name; no, you're not going to tell the girl that, if she wants to embrace her inner goth to strengthen her magic you'll support her one hundred percent) to give you all the magical protections possible. 

Then you march right down into the depths of the facility, to see what you can do.

* * *

**Hal Strider, two hours after discovery.**

Like many phone calls with Roxanne, this one is mildly frustrating. Mostly because the woman simple can _not_ keep track of who she's talking to when she gets excited; if you had a dollar for every time she's called you Dirk...

Rose says she does it on purpose. Some kind of invalidating, passive-aggressive bullshit. You're not buying that, though—Roxanne _only_ makes that mistake over the phone, where all she has to go on is your voice (which is, in fact, pretty much identical to Dirk's) and the knowledge of which one she called. Which, when she's this perturbed, can get slightly fuzzy. 

You think. You're not quite human, so this is all conjecture. 

Anyway. 

She finally disconnects, and you hop down from the fridge and type a command to one of your baby demonbots for him up start looking for some tickets up to Maine, as you head through to the other room. Dave and Karkat are on the couch, sort-of-watching a movie and ignoring Kankri, who is _actually_ watching the same movie. And also ignoring the fact that Dave's much more interested in kissing at Karkat's throat than what's onscreen. 

You rather hate to break this up. But... "Yo. Dave. We're going to Maine." 

Predictably, he groans, pressing his face against the demon's shoulder in an obvious attempt to hide from you, the issue at hand, his responsibilities, and probably the entire world. The noises that he makes _might_ be words. It's a possibility. 

Karkat laughs, stroking through Dave's white hair. You want to laugh, and miraculously manage to not do that.

"Come on, Roxanne asked for you specifically. She says she needs you for some tests on some new creature she's found. Or something." 

Dave makes some more muffled sounds. Karkat is kind enough to translate this time. "He wants you to send Dirk." More sounds. "Dave, Roxy isn't a reasonable fucking substitute, come on. Dirk really isn't either, you know." _Loud_ , if still incoherent, sounds. "You know we can cuddle on the plane, right? It's a long-ass flight from here to there..." 

"Well, I'm not calling her back to tell her you're being a brat." You roll your eyes, fishing your phone out of your pocket and tossing it to Karkat; he catches it with the hand that's not occupied with Dave's hair, not even looking up. "You can, though." 

Dave finally raises his head, snatching the phone from Karkat and hurling it back at you. (You come much closer to fumbling the catch than the demon did. "I'm _so_ not doing that. She never stops talking—" 

"—until you agree to do what she wants, yes, Dave, I know, that's why Junior's sourcing tickets for us right now. Now come on, go figure out what weapons you're planning on bringing and I'll dump 'em through a portal for Roxanne to hold on to until we get there."

* * *

**Dave Strider, three days after discovery.**

It's a pleasant surprise that the thing Roxanne needs you to investigate is in a nice neat building that kinda reminds you of a hospital. Yeah, it's deserted, but the power's still on, it's not, like, falling apart or anything like half the places supernatural creatures tend to hang out are.

Of course, the second you step past the first containment circle the "pleasant" aspect of everything abruptly evaporates. 

"Dave? Fuck—" Karkat wraps his arms around you as you start to crumple, dragging you backwards. The part of your mind that's not trying to shut down over the seemingly endless echoes of confusion and fear and hunger and _pain_ —shit fucking damn how many beings have they hurt here?—that part of you notes that the barrier is meant to contain magic, not demons or other beings. He can cross it, after all, at least to get in—

Yep, and to get out. The demon proves that one by pulling you back across the dark line on the white floor, and the things you're feeling—all the shit from your empath powers, maybe a couple hundred times more than the constant drone of emotions and sensations that you more-or-less constantly tune out—goes silent again. 

The psychic afterimages don't fade so quick, though. You gasp, close your eyes and lean into Karkat, diving as far into his mind as you can without displacing him into _your_ head. 

"Jesus Christ." A hand touches your arm, gently; you don't have to open your eyes to know that it's Hal and not Roxanne. "What happened?" 

_Karkat—_

_Answer for you? I know._ Aloud, he says, "That fucking circle has to be broken before we go in. I'm guessing it's all the way around; you obviously haven't sent any sensitives in here before Dave, or you'd know the place is fucking _full_ of... of..." 

Karkat stops for a second, struggling for a word that'll satisfy Roxanne's need for an explanation. Well, you don't have that, but you do have a pretty damn accurate term. 

" 's full of bad shit," you finish, pulling back into yourself and opening your eyes again. Damn, everything looks just a little _off_ now, colors barely darker than they should be. Fuckin' backlash. "Like they've been burning corpses for years, and the—the goddamn smoke's all stayed in the air. I dunno. Can't get out while the circle's unbroken." 

Roxanne's pretty good at keeping a professional face on, but you see her grimace at that lil' simile. "We assumed it already _was_ broken," she points out, bending down to examine the floor for a second before nodding and getting to her feet again, heading over to what kind of looks like some kinda janitor's closet. Since she comes back with two jugs of what looks like cleaning fluid, you're going to assume that's what it is. "It didn't seem to be doing anything, after all." 

"It keeps this place off the radar," you tell her, without actually thinking about what you're saying. Great, now she's actually looking at you, obviously waiting for more of an explanation. Which you don't have. 

Hal does. Of course Hal does. "So it seals all the power released by pain and suffering in general in?" the shikigami asks, taking one of the jugs out of Roxanne's hands and examining the label. "That _would_ keep it from attracting anything. Although I'm sure these fuckers would just try to trap whatever energy-sucker showed up, vivisect _it_ too..." 

There's an angry twist to Hal's words now; you cautiously open your mind to his specific mental signature, and realize that he's nothing short of furious. 

Okay, so... "You hooked into this place's computers already?" 

"Somewhat. They have very good encryption on everything deeper than the daily schedule, after all; it'll take me a bit to break in to the deeper levels." 

The set of his mouth as he goes back to reading the label says that he's getting enough info from what he _can_ access to piss him off. You seriously consider asking him what he's seeing; then you remember the feeling of all those layers of pain and decide against it. 

Karkat growls, too soft to really hear. You can feel it through his contact with you anyway. _We should just walk the fuck out of here, Dave. Roxanne isn't going to force you to handle this—_

"Anybody who definitely needs to breathe should probably vacate right now," Hal says, uncapping his jug and starting to pour the thick blue liquid across the line on the floor. "And yes, that includes you, Karkat." 

You're pretty sure that the demon would gladly just stand here and argue for the sake of arguing (and stalling the moment when you're going to go into that emotional hellhole again) but Roxanne nods, hands off the second jug to the shikigami, and leads both of you back down the hall.

* * *

Karkat's the one who asks, mostly because you're perfectly content to just kind of...curl up in his lap, and not look at the office that Roxanne's decided to put you in while Hal does whatever he's doing with volatile chemicals. If he blows something up, you're _so_ reporting this to D. Those two have a bet on over how long the shikigami can go without causing an explosion, and you're pretty sure one now would mean D wins, and as much as you love Hal, he's fuckin' _hilarious_ when he loses—

Okay, so you just missed the first half of whatever Roxanne just said to Karkat's demand for more info because you were using the thought of sulky Hal as an escapist mechanism. Time to pay attention. Hopefully. 

"—but I suppose the fact your name's written all over half the surfaces in the blue wing could be a coincidence. It'd be an odd one, though." 

Fuck? "My name's down there? Why the hell?" 

She just shrugs, crossing her arms. "Because someone's writing it, we assume. Whatever it is keeps adding to the...graffiti." 

"And you can't, like, catch them. Your mystery tagger." 

"The people who follow the trail to its end keep showing up as far from that area as possible with memory loss and _really_ bad hangovers." Roxanne grimaces, rubbing her forehead. "And before you ask, yes, I did try it myself. And no, no one's been hurt." 

"Dave's not going," Karkat says, immediately. _Nope. Fuck no. Just because it didn't hurt anyone yet—_

"Babe, I love the mama bear attitude, but I'm still gonna check this shit out." 

He whines, almost in your ear, and tightens his grip around you just a little more. "It wants you." 

_Hasn't hurt anyone yet._ "Right?" 

Roxanne just blinks in confusion at being asked to confirm a question that was, apparently, only audible to Karkat. Oops. Eh, she's probably smart enough to figure out what you're asking.

Actually, make that _probably_ a _definitely_. "Do you really think I'd send you down there, if I thought it was dangerous?" 

"No." 

"Maybe!" 

"Karkat, can you chill?" 

_No. Fuck you. Make me._ All three phrases, in one possessive and loving thought that makes you laugh and squirm around to kiss his cheek.

* * *

There's another barrier twenty feet down the hall. Unlike the first one, this one _does_ stop Karkat. 

You stop as well, three feet ahead of him, and turn around. 

The only thing stopping Karkat from ramming the wall (and probably hurting himself) is the fact that Hal's got one arm wrapped around his neck, the other twisting his arm up behind him to immobilize him. From the murderous look on the demon's face, he's about two seconds away from dislocating his own arm and headbutting the goddamn circle anyway. 

Well, shit. " 'Kat, don't you dare."

...it takes him most of a minute to relax. Hal still doesn't turn him loose. "Get the fuck back over here, asshole." 

"Nope." 

"Dave—" 

"Be back in a bit, babe. Hal, knock him out if he starts flipping out, alright?" 

"Hey, I didn't sign up for this—" the shikigami starts to protest, but you just flip him off with a grin and trot off down the hall.

* * *

...when Roxanne said your name was all over the walls down here, she wasn't kidding. 

The first place you see DAVE written on the wall, it's in red drippy letters that you have to stop and touch to be sure that it's not fresh blood. (It's not. You'd probably turn around for that shit.) That's all it says, though; those four letters, repeated in different colors the further you go. Sometimes there's a couple handprints, just a bit smaller than yours. 

Huh. Small. Okay, what's a lil' smaller than a full-grown human and can harmlessly knock people out? And has feathers, apparently; you find a handful of orange down and one flight feather as long as your hand by a door. The big feather is orange along the shaft, shading to black at the edges; the end where it'd connect to its original owner has a lil' bit of dried blood crusted to it. 

You tuck the feather into your back pocket, careful not to crush it, and wonder if you should be worried about the fact that there's a pretty fuckin' big bloodstain right next to where you found it. You probably should. 

But hey, you don't have a bad feeling. Then again, you're not Jake. 

The marks on the wall are easy to follow. They get more common the further you go, spreading across the walls like a kindergartener's realization that they can write their name on _anything_ , lots of oranges and reds and blacks with occasional splashes of other colors. Which makes sense; whoever's writing this has to work with the colors at hand, and those three are what'd be used to temporarily repair the binding and protection circles you've seen so far. 

When you find the door that's been painted on, you know you're probably at whatever you're hunting's lair. If anyone was with you, now would be the time to hesitate, take a deep breath and make a plan for going in. 

You're on your own. You check that your blades are in place and push the door open without slowing down.

"Hello?" Okay, so...it's actually brighter in here than it was outside, which is a nice surprise. You adjust your shades, take a step further in. "Hello? Yo, you got my name all over the walls 'n shit; if you wanted me, here I am." 

From somewhere in the mess of clothes and boxes and half-destroyed furniture, something screeches. Not words. Not at first. Just a frustrated, angry, _scared_ caw that has you throwing up mental barriers even before you get a feel off whoever's in here with you. 

(It also makes you reach for your hidden knives, but you stop that motion before it really gets started. You'd have felt the desire to attack, if there was one.) 

"What, you weren't looking for Dave? Because seriously, dude, if you didn't want me in here you probably should'a added, like, _keep out_ or someth— _fuck_!" 

Okay, doing air quotes was probably a mistake. It takes your hands up, away from your belt sheathes. Makes it that much easier for what feels like about a hundred pounds of angry, feathery _something_ to tackle you to the floor. 

Your head slams against something pretty damn solid, but your shades stay on even as whatever this is expertly flips you over and slams his full weight down on your chest. Which...yeah, he's small, but that's still enough to immobilize you, especially since he's just knocked all the air out of you. 

For a second, you can't see straight. Karkat may need to take a look at your head later. When your vision clears...

Well. The face you're staring up at is familiar, to say the least. Yeah, his eyes are bright orange, the kind of color that you wouldn't even hesitate to call Day-Glo; yeah, his hair is not hair but fluffy white down feathers; yeah, there's a pair of goddamn black-and-orange _wings_ spreading out behind him. Doesn't matter. 

You still know the face you see in the mirror. 

There's really only one response to this, and you and your birdy double reach it in unison. "What the _fuck_?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Let me up," you request, calmly enough. Hell, you're still a bit too shocked to really freak out, even if this guy's feather-covered hands bear dismayingly sharp talons. And are _way_ too close to your throat. "C'mon, man, I'm not here to hurt you—" 

He cuts you off with another drawn-out caw, the harsh sound resolving itself into actual words after a second. "Stop fucking _talking_! Go to _sleep,_ you stubborn piece of shit—" 

More crow noises, interspersed with softer, higher-pitched sounds and a hiss that makes you nervous because it reminds you of an angry goose. You resist the urge to shove him off—no need to get slashed open by those claws if you don't have to, right?—and just lie there, watching him blink down at you. 

...huh. Those bright eyes flare even brighter every few seconds. Glowing. Like he's trying to channel magic through them? 

_If the power's going out through his eyes, probably gotta come in through mine. Saved by the rad shades again._

You don't think he's trying to kill you, though. Even with your mental defenses most of the way up, you can feel this kid's frustration, fear, and confusion; no murderous intent. Hell, precious little _hurtful_ intent. 

He's scared. He's a kid, you'd guess he's maybe twelve or thirteen, and he's really fuckin' scared. 

Okay. You can work with this. Maybe. 

Except he's _just_ figured out that your shades are what's blocking his powers, and he's going for them. Of course he is...yeah, that's so not happening. 

He screeches again when you twist under him to grab his wrist, but he doesn't try to claw at you. Just yanks against your grip, baring his (surprisingly sharp) teeth in what's technically a threat display but you're willing to bet is motivated one hundred percent by fear. 

As much as you hate to do it, you squeeze his wrist harder, until he gasps and lets out a soft sound and just. Quits trying to get free, staring down at you instead. He's still on top of you, but the way his shoulders hunch down, how his wings fold behind him to make him look smaller, how his mouth trembles before he grits his teeth to get it to stop—all that says you've got the upper hand. 

Which...is kind of not what you want, because he's scared as fuck again. Goddamnit, you do _not_ need flashbacks right now, but your memory's still trying to spit out the shit that would've made you look just like that, ten years ago.

Bro. He's looking at you like you looked at Bro.

Fuck. 

Focus. _Focus._

"Okay, kid, you can't have my shades," you tell him, loosening your grip just a bit to see if he'll try to get away again. (He doesn't, but his eyes widen in surprise at the lessened pressure.) "Like, for one thing I kind of like not having you slam magic down on me without asking, and for another these were a gift, y'know? Can you maybe let me up and we talk through this a lil' bit more calmly?" 

He snorts, wings spreading and refolding behind him, the ruff of orange feathers around his neck puffing up like he's subconsciously trying to seem bigger. "I'm not stupid—I know you have tranquilizers and shit stashed so you can get me—" 

"Nope." He blinks down at you, and you elaborate. "I got knives and that's it. Didn't bring a gun; shooting in halls 'n shit is _stupid,_ unless you're looking to get hit by ricochet. I'm not planning on using anything I brought on a kid like you, anyway." 

The noise he makes is soft again, vaguely sulky. " _Kid_?" 

"I mean, yeah. What are you, twelve?"

"...eight. Don't call me kid, fucker." 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. Then you remember that he can't see your eyes, thanks to your shades. You _could_ address the fact that he really does look older than eight, but you're going to chalk it up to him being obviously not human, leave it at that for the moment and go after other issues. "Okay, well, I won't call you kid and you call me some derivative of Dave Strider, deal?"

He tilts his head to one side, blinking a few times and making an inquisitive almost-trilling sound as his feathers ruffle up and smooth down again. "You're not Dave. _I'm_ Dave." 

You should've expected that. "Yeah." 

"I'm Dave." 

"You're Dave. I'm Dave. We can figure out how the fuck these assholes ended up with a birdy clone of me once we get you out of here—" 

He cuts you off with a soft caw, the hand that's still on your shoulder tightening enough for his talons to dig into your skin uncomfortably. "Out of here? You're serious?" 

"Yeah, man—I told you we're here to help; Roxanne can get rid of whatever killed the fuckers that ran this hellhole, you don't have to stay—" 

The only warning you get is those orange eyes widening and all of the kid's feathers poofing up again. Then he yanks his hand away from you—and since you really weren't expecting him to pull straight back, your grip loosens just enough for him to get free. 

Oh, _shit_. Karkat's gonna be so pissed at you when you come back all torn up—

Except Birdy Dave doesn't attack you. Nope, he scrambles back, diving into an obviously carefully-constructed structure of chairs and blankets, completely disappearing from sight. 

...oookay. 

"Dude? Hey." All you get for an answer is another hiss. Jesus, you wish he wouldn't do that...but you kneel down next to the pile anyway, trying to figure out what you can touch without bringing everything down. 

When you _do_ try to touch it, you're rewarded with a vicious caw and his arm darting out, scoring a set of shallow but pretty damn painful slashes along your forearm. Yeah, maybe you shouldn't be doing that, then...

At least there's ripped-up clothing, like, everywhere. You sit back on your heels, grab what looks like it used to be most of a shirt, and wrap it around the cuts. "Dave." 

No answer. Well, no intelligible answer—he hisses at you again. 

"Dude, you can't stay here. Like, I'm pretty sure Roxanne's going to take all the demons and supernatural shit out of here, get 'em somewhere safe and then magic-strip this place. You don't wanna be here when that happens." 

"...you're going to kill me anyway." He shifts, in the inner space he's hiding in; a green scrap of cloth moves a little, feathered fingers wrapping around it to pull it up just an inch or two so he can peek out at you. 

Oof. He really does believe that; the intensity of his belief and fear is actually making you a lil' nauseated. Feeling the emotions of someone who thinks they're about to die is never fun. 

"We're not gonna kill you—" 

"I'm not _stupid_!" That last comes out weirdly screechy. "I know what _get rid of_ means, it means the same thing as _terminate_ and _end the experiment_ and _cut your losses_ —you never say you're killing us, but you don't set us free, you never set any of us free, you fu—you fucking..." 

Shit. 

You're pretty sure those weird sounds he's making now would translate to sobs. 

"Dude, hey." Can you reach in there without getting slashed again? You guess you're going to find out...and the answer is yes, you can; he doesn't strike at you this time, and your searching fingers find something soft and fluffy. Either his shoulder ruff or his feathery "hair." "Anybody who wants to hurt you goes through me, alright? And I got a demon and at least one hunter backing me up, so there's not a lot of people who _can_ get past us. Nobody's gonna touch you." 

He shifts under your hand, neither pulling away nor leaning into the contact. Curling up tighter? 

"Dave, come on out." 

" _No_!" 

"Okay, gimme a reason on that no, then." 

"You'll kill me. Or she'll kill me. Roxanne." 

"Roxanne ain't gonna kill you, and why the _fuck_ would I?" 

He's silent but for stifled peeps for a full minute. Your empathetic abilities don't give you any insight, other than a reiteration of the fact that he's _scared_. 

Then, muffled and quiet, "You're going to kill the guy who killed the fuckers." 

"The fu—" Oh, yeah. "The researchers?" 

"The assholes who kept me and everyone else here. Yeah. Sure." God, you have to close your mind against how much he hates them. It hurts. "You're going to kill me." 

...ah. Wait. You're an idiot. "You killed them?" 

More silence, filled with tiny gaspy peeps, before he starts talking again. "...yeah. They didn't know—my eyes—they didn't think the magic was gonna develop, I'm not _right_ , not a good specimen, they thought—they didn't know I could hurt them and they hurt me and I—my _eyes_ —I didn't—I—" 

Okay, fuck this. You reach in, blindly fumble around until you find the kid's arms and carefully drag him out from his nest, trying not to snag those wings on anything. He _does_ resist...but only a little, and you think that's more instinct than any real desire to escape, because as soon as you haul him out and wrap your arms around him he just kind of...melts against you, clawed hands gripping at your shirt and stressing the cloth as he buries his face in your chest and just fuckin' keens. 

You think, _is this how I woulda been if someone took me away from Bro when I was twelve?_ and then shove that stupid thought right the fuck down. This isn't about you. He's not you. Just because he's got your face, he's not you. 

He is your family, though. That's for sure. And once he's done with his cry, you're gonna start the process of taking him home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hal Strider, twenty minutes after reunion.**

Damn. If you weren't so pissed at this place and everything it stands for, you'd be somewhat impressed. 

Roxanne apparently got fed up with watching you sit on the floor and stare blankly off into space; maybe ten minutes after Dave went through the barrier, she brought you a laptop. And without having to be asked, too. Using the computer to fuck with the facility's mainframe is slightly less efficient than your direct uplink, but you think you're making slightly more headway. 

The key word there is _slightly._ They have very good encryption. 

Of course, you're better. You could probably make more headway if you weren't angry, though. 

You are angry. You are _very_ angry, a cold fury that you're glad Dave isn't here to pick up, and accessing each file isn't helping that one bit. What you're reading about, as your subroutines and demonbots try to crack the administrative levels, is two decades' worth of what you classify as varying types of torture, to what you _know_ are sapient beings. 

_Where the fuck did they get them from?_

It's a good question, and you choose to dig a little deeper for answers, since Junior and Sebastian are reporting an estimate of maybe half an hour to finish their hacking. You could _maybe_ do it faster yourself, but there's not really that much of a hurry, and they could use the practice; the more tasks you set them, the smarter and more advanced they get. 

(The goal is, of course, to get the two of them to the point where you can download them into something resembling the black box that contains your own consciousness, and give them bodies. Dirk does not know about this yet, and probably won't until after you've done it.) 

You leave the two of them to their work, and start scanning the files for each creature that is (or was; Roxanne's been relocating the ones who aren't trapped by wards, or whose binding circles were obvious enough to destroy) imprisoned here. 

_Sphinx, adult female. Captured by Dr. Hill._ Makes sense. Sphinxes can be trapped fairly easily, if you can answer their riddles; you can see how some sort of researcher would be able to get ahold of one. And you _suppose_ you understand why they'd want to study one—they're basically immortal, after all, and pretty fucking powerfully magic. 

They're also just about harmless, very rare, and usually cooperative. There's absolutely no reason to capture one and lock it up against its will. 

_Banshee, juvenile male. Captured by hunters; brought in by Ms. Eise._ Damn. You don't recognize that name, but you're pretty sure you can find out who she is, with a little work. Banshees are on the _kill on sight_ list; they're too fucking wild to leave alone, and have a nasty habit of acquiring a taste for the energy released by human death in particular...and in some cases, human flesh as well. 

They're too dangerous to keep in captivity. Let alone _breed_ in captivity, which is what this one's file suggests these fucking idiots have been researching. 

The fact that some hunters have, apparently, been supplying this place actually makes everything worse. Because you're an idiot, you search _shikigami,_ and find a list of desired "creatures." Well...less a list, than a form. 

Shit. That's exactly what it is; a form, for prospective suppliers. The prices they're offering are pretty fucking high, too...how the hell were they funding this? 

You get your answer when you have Junior pinpoint the file location that the form came from. There's another form in the same file, this one obviously used for customers to order...

Well. 

Blood. Skin. Hair. Bone. Feathers. All no doubt neatly packaged and labeled, like it's been legitimately harvested during a hunt and not taken from these poor fuckers in this goddamn—

Sebastian sends you a query, and you realize that you're so angry that it's bleeding into the network you share with him and Junior. The fact that he's picking up on it is kind of impressive; you send him back a reassuring message, and backclick away from the order form. 

Okay. 

There's what you suspect is a list of suppliers, possibly hunters who sell to this place. You consider reading through it, and instead click the commands to back it up to one of your online servers. That's a "later" thing. Or maybe a "someone else's job" thing. 

You're not liking this. It gets worse, the more you think about it. Especially when you think about the fact that they wanted a shikigami for their collection—why? What would they have done with you, if you'd been unfortunate enough to end up in one of those warded rooms? 

Junior is the one who snaps you out of your uncomfortable musings this time, with a cheerful ping and the news that they've figured out how to deactivate the warding circles that keep everyone contained in separate areas. They're also _very_ proud of stopping Sebastian from turning all the wards off at once. 

Sebastian sends you a message protesting that statement. He says he wasn't actually planning on doing that. That would have been stupid. 

Junior says he almost did it anyway, and totally would have if they hadn't shut him out of the command level. 

Sebastian says they're mean and awful and turning off the _main_ ward would be a good idea, anyway, because Karkat wants to go get Dave and Dave is about to come back with the sprite, so it'll need to come down—

Wait, come back with the what? 

Even before you formulate your query, Sebastian and Junior are scrambling over each other to access and send you the file with the answers to it. 

_Cockatrice, juvenile male. Hatched in captivity (crow egg, gila lizard incubator, "Dave"/sprite consciousness.)_

...what. 

Dave? Dave/sprite? What the hell? Fuck, you wish these idiots included photos—

Karkat makes a surprised sound that isn't really a growl, and you look up just in time to see that you don't actually _need_ a photo, since the cockatrice in question is standing there in the hall staring at you, orange eyes wide. He doesn't really look like your concept of a cockatrice—this kid's pretty humanoid, other than sunset-tinted crow's wings not-quite hidden behind his too-large sweater and the way his eyes seem more suited to a bird. 

What he _does_ look like is Dave. Exactly like him, except smaller and younger and feathery-er.

Okay, you intend to say it out loud this time. Except Karkat beats you to it. 

"What the fuck?" At least the demon doesn't sound irritated. No, that comes out surprisingly quiet and exceedingly baffled. "Dave, what—" 

"He's a cockatrice," you supply, not taking your eyes off...Davesprite?...as you start typing to tell Junior to disable the wards between you and the kid. "I'm, um. Not sure why the hell he looks like Dave—"

"Yeah, we're gonna have to figure that out," Dave says, stopping a couple feet from the unseen barrier. 

Davesprite does not stop. The only thing missing from his collision with what looks like thin air is some kind of comical sound effect; he squawks in dismay, staggering back and giving Dave a faceful of feathers in return for catching him. You're torn between laughing and wincing. 

Dave is doing both at the same time, spitting out feathers as he hauls the kid back up to his feet. "C'mon, y'all still haven't got that thing down yet?" 

"Blame Hal," Karkat growls, flattening both palms against the barrier. "I mean, you can blame Roxanne too—" 

"Now, why _me_? Because I wouldn't let you structurally damage the entire building?" 

"Because you wouldn't let me _handle_ this shit in the obvious fucking way—" 

Sebastian informs you that the warding circle is down in the exact instant that Karkat yelps and overbalances as a result of the loss of the support he'd been leaning on. Davesprite caws and darts to one side, Dave laughs and falls to his knees next to the demon to ruffle his hair and probably privately tease him, and Roxanne just sighs. 

You have to grin, typing out a quick word of praise to Sebastian and Junior. After a second, you realize that the cockatrice has, apparently, decided that you're interesting enough to approach. Maybe it's because you're still sitting on the floor, less threatening than Roxanne (who _is_ dressed a lot like the researchers would have) and less distracted than Dave and Karkat. 

By the time you look up, he's dropped to a crouch in front of you, head tilted and wings spread slightly. Damn, he's triggering your leftover Dirk-memories, of when him and Dave were both kids. That's a surprisingly positive feeling. 

"Hey there," you say to him, offering him a smile and shutting the laptop. "So, since you're obviously kind of connected to Dave, I'm going to make the leap of logic that introducing myself as your bro makes sense." 

To call the look he gives you skeptical is being overly polite. "Dude, I hatched out of an egg." 

"And I was created from elemental materials, circuitry, and magic. Do you have a point?" You grin again, and hold out your hand. "Hal Strider. You're listed as Dave/sprite in the database; that work for you? Davesprite Strider?" 

For a second, he just stares at your hand like he's not sure what you want of him. Then he nods, reaching out to gingerly wrap his fingers around yours. 

Oh _shit_. He's got feathers, and they're so damn soft. 

"Davesprite works." When he smiles, you see he's also got sharp teeth. You wonder which aspect of his lineage those are a result of. "I mean, you already got a Dave, and you actually calling me something that isn't a goddamn description of what I am is an improvement." 

Wow, you're...angry again. Just for a second, a hot flash of rage that's tied up in all your other memories of your brothers being hurt (Dirk and Dave both; you've seen Dirk fucked up a time or two, and though you'll never admit it you're almost as protective of him as you are of your younger bro.) You push that emotion down, switch if off before Davesprite can pick up on it, and let go of his hand, getting to your feet. 

"Hopefully we'll continue to be an improvement, bro. Dave, quit messing with your boyfriend and let's get the hell out of here." 

You're answered by a groan from Karkat, who was evidently enjoying the attention, and a raised middle finger from Dave. But hey, he's hauling the demon up to his feet, so you'll count this as a win. 

(The fact that Davesprite grabs for your hand as soon as you're on your feet is an even bigger win.)


	4. Chapter 4

_Karkat Vantas, ten minutes after...adoption?_

The little cockatrice sticks close to Hal, watching you like a hawk even though you're pretty sure his avian portion is crow. You're seriously wondering what he thinks of you; it's weird to have someone who looks so much like Dave and not be able to read him even a little. Unnerving, maybe. 

But yeah, you're fine with it. He's a fucking _kid,_ a tiny thing that Hal can carry in one arm while still being able to hang onto his laptop with his free hand. Which he's doing now, because the four of you are finally getting the fuck out of this hellhole. Thank _fuck_. 

Unfortunately, Dave pulls you to a halt before you can join Hal and Roxanne in the elevator. The doors shut on Hal's puzzled look, the fucking thing chimes to announce that yes, you're stuck here for another couple minutes, and you don't even try to contain your growl as you turn to Dave.

"What the fuck? You need to get out of here, I can feel—" 

"I know, dude, chill." (It's entirely unfair that he can use the simple, soft kiss that he presses against your lips to shut you up this effectively. Unfair. Totally fucking unfair.) "Need you to do something." 

"What?" 

"Kinda dangerous. Maybe. I mean, maybe not?" Dave shrugs, hands sneaking down to find yours and grab on tight enough that you don't need the emotion leaking through your bond with him to know he's nervous. Scared. "Doesn't totally _need_ to be done, could wait, it's not like we—" 

"Hey. Dave." This time it's your turn to kiss him, dead center of his forehead because he won't stop talking if you kiss his lips. You send a wave of calm to him as well, and it's probably that that silences the rush of words. _Where am I going for you?_

"Kurloz." 

"Kurloz?" 

"You can find him, right?" He tips his head back and lets go of one of your hands; you reach up and push his shades up onto his forehead without even thinking about it. Eye contact doesn't make a difference to how well you can reach his mind, but taking the barrier between him and you away is still comforting. "He..." _He's gotta know more about this shit than we do, 'kat._

"He probably does. That bastard's very fucking old; this can't be the first time this happened—" 

Dave laughs. 

"Okay, it _can,_ but it probably isn't." 

"Mhm. Do you think it's safe to go talk to him?" 

Dave tips his head back as he says that, catching your eyes and holding them, and you can _see_ the concern there like bloodstains on the wall. If you aren't one hundred percent confident in your answer, he'll wrap his arms around you and hold you here, keep you from going to Kurloz even though the Speaker is the most likely one to have answers about whether this anything to do with whether this is related to what happened eight years ago. 

(Whether it's related to when Dave died.) 

"Stop thinking about that," Dave murmurs, bumping his forehead against yours. "We're worried about you right now, not me." 

"We're worried about your little doppleganger, not me," you correct him, and Dave rolls his eyes at you. 

"He's not a doppleganger, he's a cockatrice. Get your shit straight, babe." 

_Never will I ever do anything that could be possibly labeled as fucking straight,_ you think at him, and have to smile at the little stifled laugh that provokes. Aloud you say, "Kurloz isn't going to hurt me. I can take him, remember?" 

"Fuck no you can't." _Only if he lets you._

Fuck, you guess that's true. Every fight you've ever had with the Speaker, either he's let you win for his own machinations, or you've lost. Damn. 

"Karkat?" Dave says. _You don't have to go. I don't want you hurt and you fuckin' know it, I'd rather cut out my heart than drop you where you're gonna be in danger—_

"For fuck's sake, Dave." He stops when you kiss him. Of course he does. _We're hunters. Danger happens._

"Not because I told you to do shit." The words are mumbled out against your lips; why is he like this? He can't just kiss you and think shit at you, can he. Nothing can ever be easy. 

"Shut _up._ " You put the smallest growl into the words, and Dave snorts and squeezes your hands in what may or may not be an apology. _Let go._

"Nope." 

" _Dave._ " 

He laughs, soft and not even a little worried despite the fact that anyone else might flinch at the rough tone in your words, and pulls you into another kiss. And he doesn't let you go until the elevator chimes to announce it's ready to take him out of this fucked-up place. 

As soon as he does let go to glance at the doors, you step away in a direction that is only a direction to those who can walk through the shadows and the hidden ways between the worlds.

* * *

_Kurloz Makara, seventeen minutes later._

If the demon's trying to sneak into your motherfuckin' house, he's failing. And miserably; you feel him shadow-step into your awareness, but before you can pinpoint exactly _where_ he is, you hear Meulin screech like she's being skinned alive. 

You are, however, used to that kind of noise. She ain't the one in deep shit here, you're sure of that.

Even with your confidence in your pretty lil' love's abilities, you don't waste much time making your way to the....ah. The living room. Meulin's got the guy pinned down on the floor, knees planted on his back and one hand on the back of his head shoving his face into the hideous carpet you only bought because she liked how motherfuckin' fuzzy it was, muffling whatever protests he's trying to make. 

Despite that, you recognize him as much by the muffled profanity as by the dark red hair. 

**_Vantas, she's not letting you up until you quit throwing a fit._**

"Vantas?" Meulin cocks her head up at you, eyes wide and excited. She's not even a little bit worried by the fact that she's got a demon pinned, which is probably not all that great. Eh, you still haven't met the being that Meulin couldn't take when she had the element of surprise on her side. "This is the guy who beat you up that one time?" 

**_Not exactly what happened._**

"Close enough—I'm gonna fuck him up for that—" 

Karkat yelps as she yanks at his hair to pull his head up, but you slip closer to your true form, sending one dreadlock-tentacle to wrap around her free hand before she can reach for one of the knives you keep under the coffee table. 

**_Nope._**

"K, you let me go right now!" 

**_You can't stab him, kitten. Not until we find out what he's after, right?_**

"I want to _talk_ , you crazy _fucker_." Karkat's voice is a hell of a lot raspier than you expect it to be, but then again Meulin's got his head pulled up at an angle it's not really supposed to be at and her weight on his back in such a way that you suspect he can barely breathe at all. 

**_Well, last time you turned up you grabbed me and dragged me into a motherfuckin' binding circle, so I'm not even sorry for a lil' bit of caution._**

Those red eyes fasten on your face with an expression that could be called _murderous_ without even a taste of exaggeration. "You set that shit up, fuckass." 

...hm. 

Alright, that's fair enough. 

**_Up, Meulin._**

She rolls her eyes at you, and very pointedly does not get up. All she does is yank harder at Karkat's hair, prompting an irritated growl from him. 

**_Meulin. Kitten. Ain't you the one who's supposed to be curious about shit?_** When she doesn't even dignify that one with an answer, you huff out a breath and release her wrist, stepping forward and leaning down so you can haul her up and off Vantas. 

The moment her weight's off him he's on his feet, retreating to put both the coffee table and the couch between the two you you and himself. He's spooked, and you don't exactly blame him. Also, his hair's still sticking up in the back, and you doubt he's about to think to fix that shit. 

Meulin makes that little _mrph_ noise that's meant to get your attention on her hands, and nods at your surprise guest, signing, _kick his ass_ in the smallest movements possible. 

_He doesn't know sign language,_ you sign back without concealing the motions, and then add in the medium that both Meulin and Vantas can understand, **_Haven't quite ruled out kicking his ass, though._**

Telling him that is, at least partially, a way to gauge his motivations for showing up. If he's looking for a fight, you just gave him an excuse on a silver platter...but all you get is a flash of sharp teeth that's got to be more of a reflex than anything else. (And the look on his face when you bare your teeth in response is _priceless_.) 

Once he gets over the surprise of the absence of your stitches, Karkat just shrugs and crosses his arms. "You're not going to kick my fucking ass, douchebag." 

**_No?_**

"No. Your messiah wants to talk." 

**_Ain't my messiah anymore, lil' bro._**

The choice of wording is deliberate, and you see the way Vantas twitches at how you've imitated your little brother's phrasing even if he himself isn't aware of it. It's still not enough to really piss him off. Interesting. 

"Do I look like I give a fuck? Dave wants you to come take a look at something. Someone." 

...hm. **_Who?_**

"A kid." He doesn't say, _a kid that you can't take from us,_ but if that's not what his grimace means you'd be very fucking surprised. "He's part Dave, and he's got something to do with what you did to us." 

**_Didn't do a thing to you, bro._**

Shit. 

You'd like to say that you see him lunge, but you really don't. Either you're getting rusty, or you hit just the wrong nerve in Vantas, the one that turns off all the parts of him that limit how fast he's willing to move, how hard he's ready to punch. He brushes Meulin aside like she's nothing when she tries to step in front of you, slams into you and drives you back so that your back hits the wall before you have time to even think of shifting. 

Those blood-red eyes are just about the most dangerous thing you've ever seen, you think. The worst part is that he doesn't fucking back down even when your dreads rise up and wind around the hand he's got around your throat—not that you dare exert any pressure; his nails are long and sharp, more like talons, and they're a breath away from a vein you'd really like to keep in one piece. 

Shit. You could be fucked, tight now. Holding still seems to be the best course of action here, at least until Meulin ends up forcing your hand— 

"For _fuck's_ sake," Karkat mutters, and grabs onto the dreads wrapped around his arm with one hand and your shoulder with the other, and pulls you in a direction that ain't precisely a direction as mortals understand them. 

The action of _stepping_ cuts off Meulin's outraged cry, and you have to stifle your own sigh. She's going to be _so_ pissed when you come home.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dave Strider, during/after a pretty short drive._

The kid likes Hal, which is nice. He _doesn't_ like car rides, apparently; it takes about five minutes of patient convincing to get him to fold those wings down and huddle down on the shikigami's lap in the front seat. Seatbelts are out of the question for the two of them, at least right this sec; you don't have to dip into Davesprite's mind to know that he's not going to react well to the idea of having restraint added to the cramped space. 

That's alright. You just need to drive careful and not get pulled over, is all. Not a problem.

* * *

Getting _out_ of the car is another problem, because for some reason Davesprite takes one look at the parking lot of the hotel Roxanne got a room for the three of you (four, now) and just refuses to move. More than that; he grabs onto the back of the seat with those hands that can so easily become talons and closes his eyes, shaking his head when Hal tries to pick him up. 

Shit, he's going to rip the seat cover if Hal keeps pulling. "Give him a sec, okay?" When Hal nods and lets go, you lean down to get a look at Davesprite's face, cautiously opening your mind to him specifically. 

(Which is...kind of hard to do? Like, not because of anything the cockatrice's doing, not because of any innate mental defenses he might have, just...you're leery of getting into his head again. Of getting into something so close to your own mind.) 

(This is _entirely_ because you're overthinking shit. You know it is.) 

It doesn't really matter, anyway. You can't get anything concrete from him. He's scared, the fear overrides everything else, and that's all you can feel. 

"Yo. Davesprite?" 

"Fuck off." It's half-reflexive; you can feel the spike in his fear as he realizes that you might just take him up on that, leave him in this fucking _deathtrap_ , surrounded by empty space and light brighter than the testing rooms, make him choose to either make a run for it or just sit here paralyzed by fear until he _has_ to do something or pass out from hunger and thirst—

"Shit," Hal mutters, and you barely fucking hear him because at some point in the last couple seconds you stopped being _you_ , falling too deep into Davesprite's terror to be able to reason with yourself at all. "Dave—" 

Your name isn't really enough to snap you out of it, but his hand on your shoulder is. Well, barely; you still have to squeeze your eyes shut, take a deep breath, close yourself down for a second until you've washed out the emotion that isn't really yours. 

"Dave?" Hal says again, after a good minute or so, and even though there's a note of real concern in his voice you still shake your head and flap one hand at him. Probably not the most reassuring thing you can do, but hey. You need one more minute. You're allowed that shit. 

Plus, the extra moment lets you figure out exactly what you need to do to calm the kid. 

"Davesprite, hey." You pull your shades off, lean down across the driver's seat until your feet leave the floor and you're basically lying on your stomach. It doesn't quite put you level with the cockatrice—he's not quite _that_ hunkered down—but it does give you the right angle to make sure you're not going to stab him with the bow of the aviators, as you slide them up onto his nose. "Too bright, huh? That oughta help, okay?" 

(You don't tell him to open his eyes. You brush Hal's hands away when he tries to reach for Davesprite again, to pick him up.) 

It's at least another couple minutes before the kid moves, and even then it's an impossibly small motion; just those orange-feathered wings fluffing out and shifting the tiniest bit, maybe his hands tightening on the fabric of the seat just enough to stress the fabric further. You can tell the exact moment he opens his eyes, even if you can't see it behind the mirrored lenses; your mind may be half-closed right now, but you still feel his shock at how much less _threatening_ everything seems with that small barrier of tinted plastic acting as a shield. 

You give him maybe thirty seconds to relax, and then you nod at Hal to pick him up. This time, he lets go of the seat in favor of looping his arms around your brother's neck almost immediately. 

Alright, then. That's sorted.  
You hit the locks on the keyfob, and follow Hal inside, shading your eyes with one hand. Damn, but the sun's a _bitch_.

* * *

_Kurloz, immediately after that lapse of judgement with Vantas._

Vantas doesn't drop you in another binding circle, which is nice. You don't really mind that happening when you've planned for it, but now is not one of the times that you have a whole plan going on. This is one hundred fucking percent off-the-cuff—probably on both sides, since you're almost sure Vantas doesn't have a plan in mind either. 

What the hell is wrong with hunters. They never think shit through. Not even a little. 

Anyway. In the second that you register the shift from _there_ to _here_ , several things happen. First off, you twist back from Vantas, earning a scrape along the side of your jaw that might not even draw blood. As you do that, you register at least two cries of surprise, and one noise that you don't even _know_ how to categorize. It's not human, that's for sure. More like a bird, or something close to a bird—

"Fucker, we _just_ got him calmed down!" 

Ah, that voice you know. Also, you're pretty sure that there ain't that many motherfuckers who'd dare to whap you over the head with...what feels like a shoe. 

You turn around. Yep, that's a shoe. Yep, that's one of the Striders; specifically, the one who you either owe a debt to or should be able to call down a debt from. (You made sure he didn't die, but then again you killed his boss. Might even out, really.) 

_**Messiah.**_

Addressing him like that is, in a way, a test. If he takes that honorific like he thinks he still deserves it, you're out of here. You're not the Speaker anymore; this shit ain't your job. 

But your ex-Messiah just rolls his eyes, hurls the shoe at you (you catch it, consider throwing it back, dismiss that as beneath you, drop it on the floor) and stalks over to the closet, pulling the door from ajar to open and dropping to his knees in front of it. When he speaks, his tone's gone amazingly gentle again, like he's speaking to a small and frightened animal. 

"Dude, 's just Kurloz. I'd kick his ass if he was planning on hurting you, I promise." 

_**Good luck with that.**_

At your mental voice, there's another startled squawk from the closet. Huh. Dave twists to glare up at you when you step closer to stand over him and examine the contents, but he doesn't shove you back. 

 

...well. _That's_ unexpected. 

_**Now what the fuck would you be?**_

The lil' feathery motherfucker in the closet makes a sound that's halfway between a chirp and a growl at that, fluffing up even further. You didn't think that was possible; the ruff of feathers around his throat seems to make him at least double in size. 

You don't really think he'll answer, either, but he surprises you. 

"Davesprite." 

Alright, you know that voice, too. Dave never saw you before that first time Vantas brought you to him, but you saw him as a kid often enough, through your old master's cueball orbs. You know what he sounded like as a kid. 

_**That'd be who, not what.**_ Dave reluctantly moves out of the way when you move to hunker down closer to the kid, giving you just enough room to sit there on the floor. _**Feel like I should be giving you my name, lil' brother.**_

"For fuck's sake, I'm not your bro." The kid crosses his arms, and almost immediately has to uncross them as the shades perched on his nose start sliding. He pushes them up, but not before you catch a glimpse of keen orange eyes, feel a shiver of unfocused magic. 

Familiar magic, actually. _**Cockatrice.**_

"Precisely," Hal confirms from somewhere behind you, even though you don't really need it. 

_**You're a rare one.**_ He makes that growl-chirp sound again, pressing against the back wall of the closet. Away from you, apparently. _**Who'd you belong to?**_

Again, it's Hal who answers. "Most of their shit's under stupid levels of encryption and there's not really any actual...authorities for that shitshow left—" 

(The cockatrice makes a soft, wounded sound, and you find yourself reaching into the closet to touch his shoulder. For some reason, he doesn't recoil from that.) 

"—but they called themselves the HDB on most of their forms and shit—" 

You're the one who snarls this time, deep and furious, baring your teeth at the thought of those motherfuckers. Dave scoots back, possibly because your dreads coil and sharpen in the same reaction that drives the snarl, but Davesprite just...tilts his head and pushes his shades up on his nose again. Actually, he might relax a little. 

"I'm guessing you know them," Vantas says dryly. You take a quick second to look back over your shoulder and glare at him. 

_**Yeah, i fucking know them. They—fuck?**_

The last word is not any kind of commentary on the motherfuckers you've been dealing with for a surprising portion of your long life, but a reaction to the cockatrice wiggling out of the closet, and into your lap. You can honestly say that this is something that hasn't happened since Gamzee was a motherfuckin' toddler. 

But hey, you apparently still know what to do, because he seems content with your reaction of wrapping one arm around him, smoothing feathery orange-white feathers back from his face. 

Dave has the _most_ exasperated look on his face at this point, and you have to grin at him. Maybe not the least horrifying action you could have taken, but honestly you don't give a fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's how kurloz started dropping in at the safehouse to check in with the younger striders :0)


End file.
